


Impostor

by PenguinofProse



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Becho Breakup, Echo as a strong independent woman, Episode: s06e01 Sanctum, F/M, Forgiveness, Pro-Echo propaganda campaign
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-30
Updated: 2020-03-30
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:14:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23395360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PenguinofProse/pseuds/PenguinofProse
Summary: In which Echo realises a thing or two about Bellamy and Clarke and forgiveness. Based around that conversation in 6.01.
Relationships: Bellamy Blake & Echo, Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin
Comments: 28
Kudos: 100





	Impostor

**Author's Note:**

  * For [OnlyZouzou](https://archiveofourown.org/users/OnlyZouzou/gifts).



> Hello and welcome to the latest instalment in my pro-Echo propaganda campaign! Happy reading!

I was always going to have a weird relationship with Clarke Griffin.

I knew that all along – how else could it be, when she saved my life while I was her mortal enemy? When I was in a relationship with a man who loved her first? There was no way things between us were ever going to be straightforward.

I thought I had made my peace with her. She sacrificed herself for her friends, and saved my life by accident along the way. And so I thanked her by looking out for them all, those six long years on the Ring. I pulled my weight, and then some, desperate to prove I deserved the chance she gave me. Desperate to prove I _belonged_. I wore my loyalty like a crown and slogged my guts out for the cause of keeping us all healthy and sane.

Well, as sane as anyone can be, trapped in a tin can with six people they didn't choose.

I thanked her most of all in the way I treated Bellamy. I know it's not easy for you to understand that, but hear me out. What better way of showing my respect for her sacrifice, than by making my peace with him, and trying to earn his forgiveness, and supporting him in any way I could?

I never meant to fall in love with him.

I could have seen that coming a long time ago, too, I suppose. He's an attractive man, with a heart of gold, and we sure have history. But that wasn't why I started keeping him company on lonely evenings in space, nor why I asked him to talk to me about his memories of her.

He couldn't. He could barely even say her _name_.

But then the kissing started. And then the screwing started. But it wasn't until he started staying the night _after_ the screwing that I realised the truth.

I'd gone and made things even more complicated.

All the same, I stuck to my resolution. I held firm to my loyalty to Bellamy, and my new family. I clung to my respect and gratitude for Clarke's sacrifice. And I grasped the one bright spot on the horizon – the idea that things might be simpler when we got back to the ground. Bellamy would be able to mourn her properly at last, and then we would move on.

Together.

No, I shouldn't have mentioned that. He winces every time he hears that word, and I have a feeling I know why. I don't think he realises I see it, but I notice things. I notice the way he flinches whenever anything reminds him of Clarke, every time anyone so much as says a word he considers _hers_.

Well, not quite _every_ time anyone reminds him of her. Whenever I take the lead in a conversation, or solve a problem, or hatch a plan, he looks at me like I hung the moon. It's the only time he ever looks at me quite like he adores me, and the worst thing is, I know it's not _me_ he's seeing. No, at times like that, he's seeing _her_ by his side.

I'm just an impostor, playing her part. Of course I am - that's the story of my life, isn't it? I've been wearing someone else's frown, living someone else's life since the day I killed the Echo I grew up with. I guess my insecurities about belonging are just another complication in my complicated history with Clarke.

So, to cut a long story short, I was optimistic when we landed. I was optimistic for the first time in my life, mysterious Eligius visitors be damned.

Optimism is a recipe for disappointment, it turns out.

When I realised Clarke was alive, I thought it would be easy. No, maybe not _easy_ – but straightforward. Heartbreaking, for sure, but it wouldn't be the first time my heart's been broken and, the rate I'm going, I reckon it wouldn't be the last. So, yeah, I presumed they'd fall into each other's arms and I'd retire gracefully into the background. Well, with as much grace as I can ever muster.

Then she left him to die.

I couldn't process that, and it was pretty damn obvious that she couldn't, either. Neither of us could believe she'd done it, and neither of us knew what to do next. We were both expecting to fight over who got the guy, not over the fact she left him for dead. I only knew I was furious with her for what she'd done to him – not just in leaving him in danger, oh no, but in abandoning a man who'd mourned her for _years_. That's no way to repay loyalty.

So, yeah, I tried to kill her. I'm not proud of it, looking back now, but at the time I thought I was doing it for my people. I guess now I can start to see how she felt all those years ago.

She did the right thing in the end. Of course she did – that's the story of her life, isn't it? That's the story of Clarke I've had shoved down my throat since the day the world burned. Not that I'm bitter. I'm _trying_ not to be bitter. Like I said – weird relationship. Weird to say the least.

And Bellamy did the right thing. He forgave her. Of course he did – that's the story of his life, isn't it? And so I forgave her in my turn, because that's what loyalty is. And also because, if I'm being really honest, I wanted to forgive her of my own accord, too. This is a woman who saved me when I no longer thought I deserved to be saved. This is a woman who would gladly put herself through hell to save humanity.

And so here we find ourselves, lounging on a beach when we should be standing to attention and anticipating what this new world will throw at us. Miller and Jackson are sitting close, and look almost happy. Bellamy lies in my arms, not at all happy, but at least we have each other. Shaw sits some way off, anger in every line of his face as he finds yet another reason to criticise Clarke.

And Clarke? Clarke just looks lonely. I remember what that's like, to lose your people. Or rather – I remember what it's like, to know your people live on, but don't consider you part of their _kru_ any more. She's been sticking close to me and Bellamy all day, for want of anyone else who would actually speak to her, always hovering just far enough behind us that she can pretend to herself – and _we_ can pretend to _ourselves_ – that she isn't pathetically third-wheeling. And even now, for all that she sits alone, she still sits closer to Bellamy than to anyone else.

Of course she does – that's the story of their lives, isn't it?

Bellamy's frowning at Miller, still angry with him for his part in Blodreina's regime, and I am sorely tempted to seize his shoulders and shake some sense into him. He should have learnt, by now, that life is short and he ought to show his love to the people who are important to him before it's too late.

He needs a prod in the right direction, I decide. This exasperating man is his own worst enemy at times.

"Miller helped keep Octavia alive. Some day you'll thank him for that." I keep my voice low, but I can still see Clarke taking in every word of our conversation.

"Will I?" He sounds tired, not full of hope for a new planet.

"There's no starting over without forgiveness, Bellamy." I feel him flinch in my arms, but I've started now so I want to get the words out. "Who knows that better than us? That means your sister, too."

He's been lying motionless, barely breathing since I started speaking, and I begin to wonder why. I ease back to look down at his face, and all at once I understand. I thought I already knew, after all these years, all of those words that he associates with Clarke, all of the things we aren't allowed to say.

But apparently I missed one. Apparently _forgiveness_ passed me by.

At last, he chokes out a response, and I remember that we were having a conversation, once upon a time.

"I can't." He tells me, and I understand that we are not only talking about reconciliation with his sister, any more. That the list of things he can't do, raked up by our conversation, runs a hell of a lot longer than that.

That's when I make the real mistake. That's when I look up and see Clarke Griffin, the Commander of Death herself, pretending not to cry.

And that's when Shaw makes his mistake, too, needling her further, telling her she's _done nothing yet_ , and I have never hated a near-stranger so strongly in my life. I cannot help it – pure instinct has me staring him down with a good old cold Azgeda glare. Clarke does more for her people in a heartbeat than most will ever do in a lifetime, and that's something I cannot help but respect.

My relationship with Clarke may be a weird one, but of one thing I am sure. No one hurts the woman who saved me, the woman my lover loves, and gets away with it.

…...

It is not easy to find the right time to do anything about it. Not to do anything about Shaw, of course – the radiation shield takes care of him, and I'm sorry on Raven's account but I can't find much sympathy for this confrontational newcomer into our lives. Sentiment for sentiment's sake isn't really my thing.

No, I want to do something about Bellamy, and something about Clarke. Something about the way he flinches at the sound of forgiveness, and she cries at the sight of him discussing it with anyone but her.

You see? I did a decent job of putting those pieces together, didn't I? I was a spy once. One of the best. I was my own person, before I became a shady impostor in Clarke Griffin's shoes.

It comes to me, then. That's what I need to learn how to do again. I need to be my own person, and take the initiative, and set things right. I need to carve myself a unique identity once more. And I need to serve his best interests, and hers, regardless of my affection for Bellamy because at the end of the day – their best interests are my best interests, too. That's what loyalty is.

I choose the party, in the end. A party is a good time for shifting relationships, an easy opportunity for Clarke and Bellamy to take that step they've been tripping over for centuries. Clarke is dancing with someone else, but that's a minor inconvenience. The man looks too much like Bellamy for it to be a coincidence and, underneath the arousal, she's still wearing that same sad look in her eye she's been wearing since that cursed conversation by the lake.

It makes sense, I reckon. It makes sense that she should take my words so badly. Me having his forgiveness must have been worse than me having his kisses, from where she was sitting. She never had ownership of his kisses, but his forgiveness used to be well and truly _hers_. With those few words I took from her the only thing she thought she had left, replaced her in every possible way.

Bellamy is leaning against a wall, doing a terrible job of pretending he's not watching her. And if it weren't for that moment on the beach, I think that probably I'd ask him some inoffensive question about how he's liking the party or even brave inquiring into his worries about his sister.

But this moment calls for a deeper investigation than that.

I stand at his side for a moment, and watch. Standing and watching is what I am trained to do. I roll the words around my tongue, wondering quite how to phrase my question and whether -

And then Clarke and her companion have disappeared, and Bellamy is stalking out into the darkness, and I have missed my moment.

…...

The only way my relationship with Clarke could get weirder was if she went and died yet again.

So that's what she does. Of course she does – that's the story of her life, isn't it? She dies, alone, as she always does, without even Bellamy by her side to hold her hand as she slips away. And she is replaced by a monster who flaunts the loss in our faces and is, I think, the only person I've ever met who is harder to warm to than I am myself.

I suppose I'm not breaking up with Bellamy, now. I suppose I'm trying to hold him together as he falls apart over losing Clarke. Of course I am – that's the story of my life, isn't it?

He slips away, that night, after he has told Madi. He slips away to sit on a bench and sob and pretend that no one can hear him. But I can hear him, so I steel my courage and follow him.

I won't do this again. I won't be a distraction, a warm pair of arms with a firm decisiveness that reminds him of her. If I'm going to help him through it, this time, I am going to help him _over_ it. We are going to acknowledge those words that make him wince.

I sit at his side, and ask the question I should have asked at that party.

"What does forgiveness mean to you?"

He cries noisily, and shakes his head, but I will not be put off. I am made of sterner stuff than that, and a bit of ugly crying will not challenge my devotion to his best interests.

"Honestly, Bellamy? What does forgiveness mean to you?"

He weeps for a bit longer, but I can be patient. I can see that he's working up the courage to answer.

"Clarke." He chokes out, punching himself angrily in the thigh. "It means _Clarke_."

…...

I missed my moment, at that party, and I am not missing it again. So when we stand at the radiation shield and Bellamy has the chance to take Josephine and return with Clarke, I know what needs to be done.

I send him on his way.

And then I return to Sanctum and deal with a thousand other problems, safe in the knowledge that I have done my duty.

When the thousand problems are past, there is time. It suddenly seems like so much time that we scarcely know what to do with it, and it is so tempting to put off the conversations that must be had until the next minute, or the next hour, or the next day.

But then Octavia and Gabriel are going to the anomaly, and Bellamy is going with them.

"Come with us?" He asks me, and I can read a combination of duty and fear and resignation in his eyes.

No. That is not what I want for him, for us. And it is no solution to the weird relationship that rules our lives. We cannot just carry on and pretend that he's not in love with the woman he just brought back from the dead with his bare hands and eager lips. The fact that I heard about that from Octavia – another former mortal enemy of mine – and not from Clarke and Bellamy themselves says it all, really.

"No." I tell him, straightforward, because deception belongs only on the battlefield. "You should ask Clarke to go with you, and you know _why_ you should ask Clarke."

He looks at me for a long moment. "Are you sure? Is that – is it OK?"

"It's more than OK." I insist, not ashamed of the couple of tears that accompany the statement. "It's _right_. I was only ever filling in for her, and that's _fine_."

"I'm sorry. We're still family?"

"Of course we are. Don't be sorry. I forgi- No. It's _good_. We're good. But – let me speak to her, first."

I didn't know I was going to say that until I said it, and that catches me by surprise. I have not made a lot of unpremeditated mistakes in my life, and do not like to abandon a plan. But I can see, now, that even if it was not _my_ plan it was evidently _someone's_ plan. Some higher power out there, still meddling with the human race, has had this in mind for a long time.

How else could our weird relationship ever be resolved?

"Clarke." I find her in the med bay, faffing with bottles I could never hope to understand. The look of rapt concentration on her face, though – that I do understand. That will always be the thing about me and Clarke, won't it? We will always be identical opposites, like that.

"Echo." She sets aside her task, and looks at me with some combination of respect and near-warmth that I think I could get used to, when all this is over. "Is everything OK?"

"Everything's OK." I confirm. "Everything's as it should be. Bellamy's setting out with Gabriel and Octavia any minute and I'm here to say you should go with him."

I don't say she should go with _them_ , because Clarke Griffin is no idiot, and I see no point in treating her like one.

"I should?" I can see her mind racing behind her eyes.

"You should." I nod. "I can spell it out, if you'd like. You should share a tent with him, he'll probably kiss you when one of your plans next gets the pair of your out of danger -"

"That's OK." She holds up a hand, laughing. I never thought I would make her _laugh_. "I get the idea. Are you sure?"

"I'm sure." I take a deep breath. Courage is something I have never lacked before now, but this is a particular kind of courage I am not used to summoning. "You gave me my life and over a century with him. Let me give you the one thing I can. Let me give you this chance."

She raises her brows at me. "He's not an object to be traded."

"I never said I was giving you _him_." I fire back at her, beginning to grin now. "I said I was giving you the _chance_. He's a grown man and can make his own decisions. But you and I both know he made this decision a long time ago."

She's smiling in earnest now, and I have to admit it that he was right – happiness does look good on her.

"Thanks, Echo." She pulls me in for a hug, the second we have shared in twenty-four hours, and I begin to wonder if our relationship might grow somewhat less weird, with time. "I appreciate your honesty."

That's the funny thing about being plain-speaking. People tend to accuse me of _honesty_ , when I've been living another woman's life for about as long as I can remember. It's an odd paradox, but I keep my thoughts to myself.

Of course I do – that's the story of my life, isn't it?

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
